


The Man and the Moon

by cupofdaydream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, PWP, Smut, basically all the dirty fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofdaydream/pseuds/cupofdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place where I’m intermittently going to dump my Shiro/Allura smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. good morning

**1\. good morning**

Morning light breaks through the castle window, casts a warm glow upon the bed. Allura's bright blue eyes flutter open, and it takes a dazed moment for her consciousness to catch up with her waking body, to pull itself away from dreams—the flower fields of Altea again, weaving pink blooms through her father's white hair. Waking in the morning has been harder ever since the paladins pulled her from her thousand year slumber. Every morning the sun rises, Altea dies again.

Stretching out, the blankets fall away revealing her dark, naked skin. Her bare breasts, her hips—three dark bruises bloom across the softness of her inner thigh. An moment flashes before her eyes: a warm mouth at the ache between her legs, her ragged breath, a flash of white, peering through half lidded eyes at his concentrated expression, a long scar running across the bridge of his nose.

Beside her, Shiro sighs in his sleep, rolls over to face her. _Oh, yes, that's right_. Allura closes her eyes and the entirety of last night comes back to her from the moment she and the black paladin locked eyes across the dinner table amidst the flying space goop and the rest of the group's laughter and protests, to the thinly veiled invitation she extended to him after supper to come by her quarters so they could exchange descriptions of their home planets, to the moment they fell into bed, hands torn between struggling out of their own clothes and burning paths across each other's skin.

Shiro's brow is furrowed, his jaw set, and lying back down next to him, Allura presses a kiss to his lips, kisses him once more before his dark eyes flutter open. "Good morning," she murmurs, fingers trailing down the side of his face. But his eyes are still far off, still not entirely awake, he still resides in dream. It's during this moment in the mornings, Allura notices, that Shiro ever betrays that he holds inside of him a deep sadness. But this moment every morning is just that—a moment. And it fades so fast that sometimes Allura wonders if it was ever really there.

"Hey there," Shiro says as he finally comes to, fully awake. Grinning, he pulls Allura into his strong arms, and sets her on top of him, kissing her. Allura giggles just before his tongue slips into her mouth, and her naked body pressed flush against his, she wonders if all earthlings are this hot to the touch.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks after they break for air.

His fingers weave through her long white hair. "I woke up in the middle of the night, but aside from that, I slept fine." His thumb traces the blue crescents beneath her eyes, and his voice still has that morning rasp to it. "You look so peaceful when you sleep." And then: "What is it? What's on your mind?"

She doesn't answer, at least not for a while. She hates the idea of exposing him, bringing to words his secret that he's kept and hid for so long. But she speaks eventually, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she runs her hands through the tuft of white hair that sticks every which way at his forehead. Keith once told her that his hair used to be entirely jet black—but that was before Zarkon took him prisoner.

"You always look so troubled when you sleep," and she feels his body shift beneath her. "Where is it that you always go in dreams?" she asks. Allura fears she knows the answer.

Shiro's eyes look past her shoulder. "I'm back on that ship, reliving those moments over and over again." he shuts his eyes, the vein in his temple thrumming. "Sometimes I think I've remembered something I'd forgotten. Something important. But then I wake up and it's gone." Allura nods her head. She knows better than anyone the struggle of trying to pin down a dream in the waking world.

"Forgive me," she says. "I've gone and forced you to think about unpleasant things." Shiro assures her she's done nothing wrong, that there's nothing to forgive, as he pulls her into his chest. But it is wrong. She's the one who should be comforting him—not the other way around.

"Allura," Shiro says, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

And she does. She kisses him with as much of herself that she can give and hopes that that's enough for now. And perhaps he does sense something in her lips, because he responds in kind, groaning as he deepens the kiss, his hands trailing down her back to cup her ass, and he arches forward to press his hips flush against hers.

Then, without a word, Allura sits up on top of him, and holding his gaze, she throws back the covers and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Satisfaction warms her chest as she feels Shiro's eyes on her body, his pupils dilated, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as his hands reach up to give her breasts a squeeze. Bending down, she bypasses his waiting lips to lick and nip at that spot below his ear, and when he groans, she lets him roll them over so that the weight of his body presses down above her.

Panting above her, Allura recognizes that look in his eyes, and he draws close, his lips just in front of hers. She shudders as she feels two fingers slide inside of her, her back arching perfectly, and through half lidded eyes she watches Shiro take a pert nipple into his wet mouth.

All of it almost sends her over the edge: tension building in the pit of her stomach as his fingers move in and out of her at an agonizingly slow pace, her breath going ragged as he rolls her nipple between his teeth, nipping and lapping at the soft skin of her breast. Rocking against his hand, her orgasm builds and builds, but just as it's about to crash over her, his fingers pull away; his lips leave her breast. Shiro sits back on his knees.

An unintentional moan leaves her body, and for a moment there is only the sound of their labored breath. So close to the edge just a moment ago, she feels her climax begin to fade. Between her parted thighs she looks up at Shiro, his skin a pale gold in the morning light. Her eyes sweep over the musculature of his body, travel the scars that run along his chest and torso, the sun glints across the metal of his Galran arm. Allura watches him stroke his length once, twice, and then three times. She feels herself nod her head.

The hair rising off Allura's skin in anticipation, Shiro bends down, his hot breath at her stomach, before his tongue ventures out, sweeping up her belly, between her breasts to meet her mouth, and Allura groans into the kiss at the same moment that he enters her.

His hand cups her cheek, and looking up at him, Allura finds herself contemplating the same question she asks every morning. How is it that a man can experience so much tragedy, and still remain so gentle and good?

He moves above her, and she loses herself in the steady rock of his hips, her arms wrap around his body and she whispers hoarse Altean into his ear. The coil of tension builds again and she urges him faster, deeper, to touch her _there_ , yes, just like that. A long, dark leg wraps around his hips to draw him in, and her nails cling to his back, the white sheets, anywhere they can find purchase. Their labored breathing and the smack of skin against skin beat in time, and she's so damn close she feels as if she may break.

"Allura, baby," Shiro groans into her neck, "I'm gonna cum." His hips transition from fast to deep, long strokes, and somehow he reaches down, his thumb working at her clit to bring her along with him. Allura only has time to whisper back encouragements before her climax breaks over her, and Shiro spills after. They both cry out, a sound that echoes within the high ceilings of her bed chamber, and then spent, they collapse upon the sweat soaked bed.

The moment one finishes after sex is so very much like the moment after one wakes, Allura thinks to herself. One's body is so much at peace. The morning seems born anew. It is as if she has just awoken from a wonderful dream. She turns to face the center of the bed, and finds Shiro on his back, his eyes closed as he recovers. He looks almost as if he were sleeping—and yet his brow is unwrinkled, the smallest of smiles plays on his lips. And when his eyes do open, they glint, as if the sun rises behind his irises too.

He presses a kiss to Allura's lips, a kiss that's lazy, gentle. "Good morning," Shiro says. And the morning is good. It really is.


	2. pink

It’s the first thing Shiro notices when the doors to her quarters slide softly shut behind him. All of it is pink. The sheets of her mattress, her carpet, her nightgown against her warm dark skin--even the curtains of her bedroom, framing a window to the universe where the ghosts of nebulae drift past the ship like strange clouds. 

 

“You did some redecorating while I was gone,” Shiro says as he joins her at the porthole view. He stands a respectable distance away, close but not too close but near enough that he can breath in her familiar scent, that phantom always creeping at the corners of his dreams, the part of her his memory could never quite pin down during those lonely nights in that Galra cell. The galaxy reflects in her sapphire eyes and her hair falls in waves against her nightgown. “Pink suits you, Princess,” Shiro says. 

 

“On Altea, pink is our color of mourning,” she says. “It is also the color of Altean empresses,” and Allura turns to him and smiles in a way that makes Shiro’s heart ache. “It is my inheritance: to honor our fallen warriors, to mourn Altea. At one point, to mourn you.” 

 

And Shiro doesn’t know what to say. Because part of him wants to assure her that he’s here now. He’s alive. Because the other part of him knows that deep down he’s never expected himself to survive all of this to the end, never been able to envision a future with himself in it. And what a tragically perfect pair the two of them are—one of them destined to mourn, the other destined to die. 

 

She stands so close yet so far at the same time. Far enough that in the inches between them reside galaxies and infinities, light years upon light years; yet close enough that when Shiro inhales he breathes in her familiar scent, recognizes it as the phantom creeping at the corners of his dreams, the part of her his memory could never quite pin down those lonely nights in that Galra cell.   

 

Yet somehow, he finds a way to close the distance, his hand reaching out to find hers. “Allura,” he says, “You don’t need to waste your heart on me. There are far more important things out there than me.” 

 

Her sapphire eyes turn to his and he sees fire. “Shiro, never underestimate how important you are,” Allura replies, assertive and soft all at once. 

 

They grow silent for a while, watching space and time pass before them, billions of stars living and dying right before their eyes. Off in the distance, another nebula comes into view. A pink haze, an explosive exhale of smoke and stardust, a nursery born from a graveyard. 

 

Her hand in his slowly becomes her body wrapped in his embrace. How is it that no matter how many light years separate them, they always end up here? And slowly, her body wrapped in his embrace becomes her lips on his lips, her lips on his neck, her hands tugging his shirt over his head.

 

“If only you could know,” her breath ghosts across his ear, and her arms wrap around his neck. “If only you could know how truly irreplaceable you are.” Shiro wonders if it’s anything like the way he feels for her. 

 

They fall into her bed so naturally—somehow the both of them already undressed. Her body moving above him makes him shiver, the way her fingers trace the contours of his body leaves him breathless, and her hips grinding against his draw him almost over the edge. She’s a shooting a star, a meteoroid, hot, and bright, and burning and he’d give anything to burn alongside her. 

 

Gently, he guides them both so that she rests below him, her white hair fanning out behind her like streaks of the milky way across earth’s nighttime sky. She stares up at him expectantly, coy, a smile playing at her lips, and Shiro flushes deep red, ducking down to hide his face and press a kiss to the tip of her breast. Allura giggles, letting him kiss his way down her stomach, across her hips. She moans as he licks her inner thighs, nips at the soft skin, crying out when he finally drags his tongue up the length of her sweet and wanting cunt. 

 

“Mmmmm, Shiro,” Allura whimpers, her palms running through his undercut. He teases her clit, sucking and flicking and kissing, his erection hard against the mattress as she responds to his touch. He dips a finger in and then another, her back arching higher and higher until her orgasm breaks over her and she cums against his mouth. But Shiro doesn’t stop. Bracing the palms of his hands against her thighs, his tongue coaxes her from one orgasm into the next, careening fast, on fire, until spent, her body stills into breathlessness. 

 

Shiro kisses her parted lips, soft, and sweet, and gentle. He rests on the forearm of his metal arm, his human one running up and down her side. “Are you all right?” he whispers, brushing her moon white hair from her face as she nods. And he kisses Orion’s belt across her eyelids and forehead. Her slender fingers reach out for him, one hand reaching for his shoulder, and the other to stroke his hard and aching length. 

 

“Make love to me,” she whispers. 

Carefully, he slings one of her legs over his shoulder, kissing the pink altean markings that creep down her thighs. He blushes as she sits up on her forearms to watch him enter her, bashfulness becoming blinding desire as he slips into her heat and she throws her head back with a moan. 

 

He moves as slow as he can stand, rocking in and out of her deep and measured. She looks up at him through half crescent eyes, giving a shuddering sigh as Shiro licks his thumb and begins to trace circles into her clit. And he is so incredibly drawn to her orbit, to be near her always—how is love any different than planets worshipping celestial bodies?      

 

Her hands burn passion into his back, and Shiro is overwhelmed by the way her scent drifts off her skin, musky and sweet, by the way her body feels against his, around him, the way she wants him, the way he wants her. And as slow as he began, his control over pace soon wanes, each thrust deeper and faster than the last. She moans his name against his lips, both of her legs now somehow slung over his shoulders, his prosthetic arm threatens to dent the metal of the bed’s headboard.  

 

Their bodies ebb and flow tension building in their cores just before the freefall. His climax builds within him slow and then all at once: his breath becoming more and more ragged with every stroke, he struggles to hold out long enough to bring her with him. 

 

“Allura,” Shiro gasps, “baby…” She feels so good around him, his length slipping in and out, faster and faster, of her wet, slick heat. 

 

“Please,” Allura moans, “Please, Shiro, cum inside me.” 

 

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take her with him. And so with one final groan, Shiro does as he’s told, holding out just long enough to coax her over the edge at the same time he buries himself deep inside her one last time, wave after wave of ecstasy rushing through his body. Her soft, delicate cry rings in his ear as he spills into her, and in the silence, the stillness that follows,  he finds her: her sweat soaked brow, her rose petal eyelids, panting behind her supple, parted lips. 

 

Shiro feels her kiss him, feels her smile against his neck as she buries her face in the crook of his shoulder. And when they finally part, cleanup is almost half heartbreak, reminding them they can’t stay one forever. But settling between the sheets in each other’s arms—this will have to do.   

 

“On your planet, Earth,” Allura whispers to Shiro in the dark. “Pink. What does it mean?”  Shiro’s heart trips over itself. 

 

Earth. By now he’s probably spent just as many years in space as he has on Earth. At one point does a planet stop becoming the place you call home? Because if you had asked him years ago about the color pink he’d think of cherry blossoms in spring, salmon steaming over white rice, the hat his grandmother would wear while she gardened. But now all he can think about is the way his chest gets tight when her tongue wets her lips before she speaks, how he longs to run his thumb along the pink crescents gracing her cheekbones, stars exploding around them.  

 

And there is a word on his tongue that he cannot find the courage to say. And so Shiro kisses her. Shiro kisses her and he hopes she understands. 

  
  



	3. heatwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ve just readed Atonement again so this is heavily heavily inspired. I’m just trying to keep my prose in shape over the summer. 
> 
> Just in case you’ve forgotten this is a smut collection, this is rated M for sexual content :)

When the thermostat malfunctions, they’re halfway out of the orbit of a bright burning star, and suddenly they’re running far too hot. Pidge says they’re sitting at approximately ninety-seven degrees fahrenheit—whatever that means. It’s much too warm for Allura to fully wrap her head around what the young paladin is saying, can only really comprehend that it’s hot, and that it’ll take a couple of day cycles to rectify.

 

In the meantime, everyone strips down to the bare essentials: boxers and undershirts, t-shirts and shorts—everyone except Allura, that is. Allura was of the opinion that hot weather encouraged loose clothing, and loose clothing encouraged even looser morals. Coran had already chastised Lance for hanging out in front of the open fridge, and she’d caught Pidge and Hunk filling the tubs with cold water rather than working on rebooting the system. Even Shiro seemed to succumb to the hot weather, ditching his usual long-sleeved uniform for a tank top and jeans. Allura ignores the slight abandonment she feels by this simple act. Besides, earthling beachwear was a style of dress unbecoming for a princess. She’d rather stick to her regular formal attire, thank you very much.

 

But the heat is oppressive and unrelenting, unforgiving of her efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy through her long skirts, full bodice, and cape. Sweat collects anywhere and everywhere, the small of her back, her brow, it slides from her armpits down her sides. Her hair is a mess, the humidity doing it no favors as it simultaneously frizzes and sticks to her scalp.

 

“What are you trying to prove?” goads Lance at dinnertime. “Or _hide_?” he says with teasingly raised eyebrows.

 

“Yeah, Princess. Where’s the harm in letting your hair down for a few days?” adds Pidge.

 

“I am trying to maintain some sort of decency around here,” Allura snaps back, more at Lance than at Pidge. “The heat is no excuse for us to abandon our normal routines.”

 

Across the table she feels Shiro’s eyes on her and the knowledge inspires some sort of determination in her. She returns his gaze with twice as much intensity, willing him to look away. But his eyes lack the challenge she anticipated, are innocent in their presumption and hold a certain curiosity at best. Allura feels her earlier resolution dissolve into self-consciousness, and it is all she can do to sequester the blush she feels at the tips of her ears from spreading to her cheeks.

 

“Do you have something to add?” she salvages her dignity by going on the offensive. If he’s going to stare, she won’t let it go entirely unpunished. But to her disappointment, he doesn’t bite back, choosing to side with her and address the rest of the team instead.

 

“The Princess is right,” Shiro says, his agreement catching her off guard. “We can’t forget our responsibilities just because we’re in a heat wave. We have to remain alert.”

 

His gaze leaves her, and she finds she misses it as soon as it’s gone. Allura shifts in her seat, curtly wipes away a bead of sweat falling from her temple. Her reactions to his attention as of late annoy her. For in truth things had been different since even before they entered this heatwave. Ever since they returned from their last mission, interactions between the two of them had been strangely… formal. He no longer spoke with her outside of meals and then only in regards to paladin business. The other day she’d been down at the gym practicing her sparring when he’d come down for a workout of his own; he’d begun to warm up but then for whatever reason, thought better of it and rather than share the space with her, up and left. This new distance between them wounds her and she resents him for it. If he wants to reduce their relationship to pure formalities, so be it. Two can play at this game.

 

But now here he is with the audacity to agree with her! After weeks of keeping her at a distance he extends an olive branch and expects her to take it? Please, she’s much too proud. Another bead of sweat began to fall from her temple, but she decided that dabbing it away with her napkin would signal some sign of weakness and so she resisted the urge. Between Shiro and this heat Allura has had quite enough. Making a show of finishing off her drink she stands.

 

“I’m headed off to bed,” she announces before making her exit. She feels his eyes, once more, trained on her as she leaves.

 

. . . . .

 

Shiro let the cool water of the shower pound against his chest and face, washes off the scourge of the day. She’d been so angry with him at dinner, he could tell. And why wouldn’t she be? For in truth, he had been avoiding her over the past couple of weeks. Something had changed after that last mission. He didn’t know what. Only that he had realized that he was undeniably attracted to her and had been for weeks without knowing it himself. His desire frightens him. He was her paladin, her friend, and such attraction felt like a betrayal of that trust they had already built. And underneath it all was still the question of position: who is he to want a princess? It was unbecoming, it was naive, there was too much at risk. His desire would surely tear them all apart.

 

Shiro inhales, the muscles below his stomach tightening as he thinks of that day down at the training room when he’d walked in on her sparring— her chest rising and falling with each breath, and that suit that clung to her body, worshipping every curve of her hips and thighs. He’d had to leave, forgo his workout that day for fear she’d pick up on his longing. But in his loneliness he returns to the memory, back to her body in that suit, and enters again the fantasy in which he doesn’t leave the gym but stays and presses her body into the floor, peels that suit from her skin, and kisses his way up her thighs, his tongue sweeping across dark skin as she whispers his name.

 

Groaning, Shiro forces his eyes open and turns the water to the coldest setting.

 

**. . . . .**

 

In the privacy of her own chambers, Allura lies in bed dressed down to a pair of shorts and a tank top. She guiltily enjoys the cool relief brought on by the escape from her formal robes, her mind clearing the longer she spends reclined upon her sheets. She was perhaps too harsh at dinner. Allura sighs. That means she’ll have to apologize— to everyone. Lance and Pidge can wait until tomorrow, but Shiro… she’s not sure where to even begin. Her ego assures her that an apology from her isn’t warranted until he apologizes first, and yet her diplomatic sensibilities encourage otherwise. With another sigh, Allura rises and gets dressed. She slips back into her formal robes and lets her hair fall from her bun around her shoulders before heading out.

 

Shuffling uncomfortably, she raps three times at his door. She’ll apologize for dinner, finally get to the bottom of the nonsense that’s been going on over the past couple weeks between them, and leave. The plan is set and she’s determined to achieve it—she’s never been one to abandon aspirations or goals before they’ve reached fruition. But then the door opens, and she’s faced with a bare chest and Shiro’s rapidly reddening face.  

 

“Allura— Princess!”

 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d be— I can come back.”

 

“No, you’re fine. Just, um, just give me a second.”

 

The door shuts again and Allura releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her cheeks and ears burn as she fails to stop herself from thinking about the beads of water dripping from his hair down his neck, his arms and chest thick like mountain ranges, and the muscle of v pointing downwards… It is with horror that she realizes that the heat burning her cheeks belongs less to embarrassment than it does to desire when the door opens once more. Allura quickly straightens up, composing herself.

 

“Sorry about that,” Shiro says, now fully clothed.

 

“It’s quite all right,” Allura quickly responds. They stand in uncomfortable silence for a moment before she speaks again. “May I come in?”

 

“Yes. Of course. Please come in.”

 

His room is just as neat as she expected it to be—the floor spotless, the walls bare save fot a mirror across from his bed. Something about it makes her just the slightest bit sad. She spots the shower door, still wet, and his damp towel hanging out to dry on a chair, and the idea of him naked not too long ago in the space that she now stands makes her robes feel tight and hot.  

 

Shiro takes a seat on his made bed, looking up at her expectantly. “So how can I help you, Princess?”

 

Remembering herself, Allura returns to the words rehearsed in her head from the time she left her room to the time she arrived at his door. “I came to apologize for my inconsiderate behavior at dinner. Snapping like that was completely unwarranted and for that I am sorry.”

 

He shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong.” And then, “Are you sure there isn’t anything else?”

 

Allura bites her lip, feels the heat rising to her face once more. She hadn’t anticipated his eager agreement, hadn’t anticipated him asking such a leading question. She had planned to confront _him_ about his distant behavior, hadn’t foreseen him walking her straight into it. Her composure begins to loosen as her mouth goes dry. Exasperated, she speaks: “It’s just that the past few weeks have been so strange, and then tonight at dinner I don’t know what came over me. Things have just been so different between us and I was so angry with you for it—it must be the heat, the close quarters. I just don’t know.”   

 

Guiltily, he looks away. “I think you’re right. You’re right. Things have been different.”

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

He nods. “I’ve been avoiding you. And I know that I shouldn’t. It’s just that I don’t know what else to do.”

 

Despite his words, Allura feels herself draw closer to him. And she suspects that the force that draws her closer to him is the same force that brings him to his feet before her.

“I don’t understand,” she says.     

 

Something rises in her chest and she wishes he would just look at her. But when he does, there’s something in his eyes that she doesn’t entirely recognize, doesn’t entirely understand. “The truth is that you make me feel lightheaded,” he finally says, “and I don’t think I can rightfully blame the heat.”

 

“What are you saying?” she whispers back.

 

“Princess…” his voice strains, “Allura. Surely you must know.”

 

And she thinks back to that moment on dinner, with his eyes on her, that moment in the gym. The formality of these moments transforms into newly recognized self-consciousness. She thinks back to her own attentiveness to his presence and absence, her own flustered state. How could she have been such a fool this entire time?

 

“Yes, I think I know exactly.”

 

The kiss feels so inevitable, like gravity, like dying stars. His hands are on her body and her hands are in his hair, the both of them burning hot and bright. Allura sighs into his embrace, becoming soft against his touch. And days later when she thinks back to this moment she’ll wonder how it was two fools found each other and thank her lucky stars they did.

 

Shiro groans against her lips, his arms pulling her closer. His tongue slips into her mouth and he ignores the beads of sweat collecting at his temple. Losing himself in her, he grinds his hips against hers and she moans, and, their kiss broken, her lips find his neck where she playfully bites and nips. Her hips buck against his, and carefully, he swings her up onto the bed where he pins her beneath his kneeling figure. Whipping off his shirt, his eyes meet hers.

 

She’s beautiful with her hair billowing around her head like sun flares from a star, and the quick yet gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. She looks up at him curiously, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a sort of half smile. And Shiro blushes as he feels her take his body in, eyes traveling from the curves of his shoulders to the hard muscle of his torso and down. A hand reaches out to stroke his length through the fabric of his pants. Shiro inhales.  

 

“What are you waiting for?” she whispers to him.

 

There’s so much fabric involved in her robes that he needs her assistance untangling her from them. But when she’s finally free from it all Shiro kisses her stomach, her breasts, her mouth again before dragging her to the edge of the bed. He drags his tongue up and down the insides of her thighs, revels at the tiny gasp she gives, before he takes the tip of his tongue and touches it to her center. Shiro takes his time, tasting her slow and easy. He alternates between kisses and licks to her clit, his Galran arm reaching up to caress one of her breasts. And when she cries for more, he slips two fingers inside her, bringing her to a crescendoing climax. But even as her breath heaves and shudders, he doesn’t stop, his tongue and his fingers working together to draw moan after moan, orgasm after shaking orgasm from her body.

 

“Shiro,” Allura calls his name. “ _Please_.”

 

Pressing one last kiss to her pulsing clit, Shiro stands, unzipping his pants and freeing his orgasm. He feels the princesses eyes take him in, and his arousal grows deeper in his stomach. Looking to her for assurance, he pulls her to the edge of the bed towards his standing frame. His moan is stifled by her own cry as he enters her, and in the pause that follows his eyes meet hers. In that split second, he remembers who she is, who he is, and what they’re doing, and a certain shyness returns. Who is he to love a princess? The entire universe feels as if it’s at stake between their sheets. But inhibitions will be the death of this, and so Shiro tries to forget and think only of her.

 

Sweat collects at the small of his back, rolls down his chest, as he rolls his hips back and forth. Her soft moans encourage him as one hand rests on her inner thigh and the other works her clit. Her hands find purchase in the sheets, on his forearm, anywhere they can and when she comes again it takes everything in his power not to follow. The flick of a wrist folding laundry, dirty dishes in a sink—he thinks of the mundane, the unassuming, anything to keep his orgasm at bay.

 

She whispers something about wanting to get on top and Shiro obliges, happy to take a break from doing the work in all this heat. He hops into bed, laying on his black as she climbs onto him, swearing in Altean as she slides down onto his stiff length. And then she begins to move above him, and he is mesmerized by the sway of her hips as they twist and swing to and fro. At one point he turns his head to the side and catches a sight of the two of them in the mirror: her arched back, her cascading hair, her parted lips—it is so easy to get lost in her. Shiro squeezes her ass and holds on for dear life.

 

His orgasm approaches gradually, and he uses his thumb on her clit again to make her come with him. And as she careens into another orgasm, it’s as if he’s fast approaching a cliffside, his stomach tightening and his breath getting shorter and shorter before he spirals downward. “Oh, god, Allura” he says through clenched teeth. With a groan, he thrusts up, spilling into her as he falls.   

 

Spent, she collapses into bed with him, half laughing as she does. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek before rolling off of him.

 

Just then, machinery begins to rev as the air starts up again. The both of them look around the room, bewildered. Allura turns to Shiro and smiles.

 

“Shall we go again?” she asks. Shiro is happy to oblige. 


End file.
